Nine To Five

Nine To Five • ​​John Pollock

Flesh is fickle, flesh fails

Through no fault of your own, its form departs from you

Sprawling months of pain unfurl their sails

Rest only sedates, letting the sleeping dog lie, and renew.

Raked coals, glowing iron anguishes and burns

Youth’s sweet lips chew away the chunks of dying flesh

Raw nerve, inwards it turns

Weaving spilling holes in the gut, wounds so fresh.

The clock spirals round, seizing limbs taught as rope

City starlight litters the ground as vision fades to gray

Concrete jungles that prey on young hope

Groans, shudders, and shakes, bills I pay.

A silent creed bearing, no, gnashing its dull teeth

You’ll bleed all you’ve got and be laid far beneath.